


I've Just Got One

by sailorchiron



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorchiron/pseuds/sailorchiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firelight and…fairy lights?  Has John put up a tree?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Just Got One

**Author's Note:**

> My gift for missilemuse in the Sherlock Secret Santa on Tumblr.

Sherlock was assisted into the entryway of 221B by a gust of icy wind and a flurry of snow. With the door closed against the wretchedly cold and wet weather, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, causing another snow storm at the foot of the stairs. Sighing, he began the trip up the 17 steps, purchase in his pocket making him feel light and buoyant on the first step only to be crushed under the burden of doubt on the second. The emotional battle continued until he was about halfway up the stairs. Looking up, he could see that the sitting room door was open, but that the light coming out was not the usual hue or luminosity. _Firelight and…fairy lights? Has John put up a tree?_ Curiosity hastened his steps. He had not thought John was interested in decorating for the holiday this year. Then again, he hadn’t asked; he’d just assumed John would not be interested in decorating. He paused at the top of the stairs. He could hear John moving about in the flat. Making tea? Yes, kettle turned on, two mugs being set on the counter. Sherlock took a deep breath. He’d heard that deep breathing was effective in calming nerves. He immediately dismissed it as useless advice. Of course, now he was forced to confront the fact that he was nervous. He was actually _in doubt_ of the outcome of what he was going to do. It was…unsettling. He walked into the sitting room and, taking off his gloves, looked around.

John had indeed set up a small tree, and it was bedecked with multi-colored lights. A handful of ornaments adorned the branches (mostly supplied by Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock assumed). White lights were draped around the mirror over the fireplace, much as they had been at his last Christmas on Baker Street. More lights surrounded the windows. It was quite festive. Sherlock’s hope and doubt both increased on seeing the holiday trappings about the flat. Hope, because he knew that in his absence, John had not decorated for Christmas, and this clearly showed that John was very happy that he was home. Doubt, because how could John possibly have forgiven him? He seemed to understand why he’d done it. He’d been very angry, and very hurt, and very demanding of information, but had come to terms with it, even letting Sherlock come back to 221B just a week after revealing that he was still alive. And things had been _wonderful._ When he’d first knocked on the door, not three months ago, John had greeted him with a great deal of shouting and a punch to the face that had knocked Sherlock into the wall. While he was still reeling from the blow, John had grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled him as close as he could and kissed him. Sherlock had been so shocked, but so _happy_ , that he’d kissed John back with all of the pent-up longing and desire of nearly two years of friendship and three years of painful separation. Now, after all of the shouting and explanations and more shouting, and a great deal more kissing, things were starting to feel a bit more settled. _Should I really be upsetting the balance of our lives at this point?_

“Kettle’s boiled,” John announced, breaking Sherlock from his (rather out-of-character) reverie. “What do you think of the decorations?”

Sherlock turned from his contemplation of the lights and looked at John. “You’re very much more in the Christmas spirit than you were before I left this morning.”

John blushed and looked away, smiling a bit. “Well, I was, ahem, considering that I have a reason to feel festive this year.” He walked over to Sherlock, who was still standing in the doorway. “Look up.”

Sherlock glanced up, spotting a familiar nosegay of waxy green leaves and tiny white berries. “It’s poisonous, you know.”

“Only if you eat it,” John laughed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Sherlock obliged him, bending his neck and pressing his lips, still cool from the winter weather, against John’s soft, warm ones. After a moment, John moved closer, sliding his hands inside Sherlock’s coat and tugging him even closer with gentle pressure on his hips. Sherlock moved in, wrapping his arms around John and opening his lips, just a bit, to invite John into his mouth. With a soft sound, John brought his tongue to meet Sherlock’s, and they stayed that way for a long moment, cuddling close, twining tongues and trading breaths. Only when the need to breathe overpowered the romance of the moment did Sherlock pull back. John looked up at him through his lashes, lips kiss-swollen and cheeks flushed, and Sherlock thought he had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, gently caressing John’s cheek.

John smiled at him, leaning into Sherlock’s hand. “Happy Christmas.”

Suddenly, Sherlock knew he couldn’t wait until the 25th to give John the gift in his pocket. He needed to capture this moment, this now. He’d thought so much about buying John’s gift. He normally didn’t indulge in the nonsense of holiday gift-giving, but John did, and he rather felt that he owed John quite a lot for taking him back into his life, then giving him so much more. Sherlock had found, however, that he had no idea what to get John. He seldom wore scarves, had a perfectly serviceable pair of gloves, didn’t wear hats, had recently replaced his laptop, and gotten a new phone just the previous month (Sherlock was trying very hard to pretend he was innocent in the destruction of it). John was not a man enamoured of _things_. One of the many things he liked about John was that he was not materialistic in the slightest. He briefly considered getting him a new jumper, but on the whole, Sherlock wanted to avoid contributing to the jumper collection. Finally, he’d just decided to get John what _he_ wanted to give him rather than thinking about what John might want.

Sherlock dropped his hand from John’s cheek and reached into his pocket, glad he hadn’t removed his coat and thereby removing the gift from his reach. “John,” he began, and then stopped. He didn’t know how to give it to him.

John looked at him quizzically.

“John.”

“Yes?” John now looked suspicious. “What did you do?”

Sherlock scowled. “Nothing.” He reconsidered. “Not much.”

John arched an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock sighed. “I have a gift for you.”

John looked skeptical. “You do?”

“I do.”

“Is it a body part?”

Sherlock laughed, a little puff of amused breath. “No, not this time.” He paused a moment. “Can I give it to you now?”

“It’s only a week ‘til Christmas, don’t you want to wait?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I want to give it to you now.”

John smiled. “Alright.”

Sherlock pulled his right hand from his pocket and was holding a small box. “I’ve not much experience in the purchasing of gifts for people, as I’m sure you’re aware,” he said, focusing on the box rather than John’s puzzled face. “I felt, however, that you should have one.” He took a deep breath, then remembered it was bad advice and wouldn’t help, so let the breath out in a huff. He opened his mouth to continue, and found that he quite did not know what to say. _How do I say that I will never have the strength to walk away from you again? How do I tell you that you’ve changed me, and that I don’t want to change back? That whether an advantage or not, I care about you, more than I can possibly say?_

John looked at him expectantly, eyes bright.

Sherlock opened the box. Inside was a very simple gold band. “I wanted to give you a promise,” he whispered. “I won’t leave. Unless you can come with me.”

John’s eyes were wide. “Sherlock...”

He finally met John’s eyes. “I would give my life to protect you. I’ll give you everything there is of me. Please, please, say you’ll marry me, because I never want to let you go and I’m afraid I don’t know what would become of me if I lost you.” He felt his eyes welling and absently noted the tears trailing down his face as he watched John for a reaction.

John was instantly sporting matching tear-streaks. “Oh, God, yes.”

Sherlock only had a moment to feel his face stretching into the widest grin it had ever hosted before his arms were full of John, who had thrown his own around Sherlock’s neck and was pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss. Sherlock caught him close, kissing back like he’d never get enough. Over and over his mind was calling out over the chaos of joy that John was _his_ , and _his only_ , for the rest of their lives, and he’d never, _ever_ have to let him go again.

John finally pulled back, smiling and crying, and said, “Well put it on my finger then,” looking pointedly at the open box in Sherlock’s hand. “I don’t know how you knew my ring size.”

Sherlock gave him one of his raised-eyebrow, how-can-you-be-so-dense looks. “I’ve held your hand.” He plucked the ring from the nest of midnight velvet and took John’s left hand. He slid the band onto his fourth finger, and it was, of course, a perfect fit. He lifted John’s hand and brushed his lips across his fingers.

John held his eyes. “I...I love you, Sherlock, you must know that.”

He nodded, eyes solemn. “I never thought I was capable of feeling love, honestly. I wasn’t sure that was what I was feeling, or why I was feeling it. It was decidedly inconvenient. But approximately nine milliseconds into our first kiss I realized that the feeling I had for you for so long had to be love, and that I had just mislabeled it due to lack of previous exposure.”

John laughed a little breathlessly. “Nine milliseconds?”

“Well, to be fair, I had just received a blow to the head, processing speed would likely have been reduced.”

John laughed again. Sherlock thought he’d never be tired of hearing John’s teary laughter. He pulled John close again and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He felt John’s arms tight around his waist.

After a moment John pulled away a bit. “Come on then, let’s have tea and maybe you can actually take off your coat,” he teased.

Sherlock chuckled as he watched John, his _fiance_ , walk to the kitchen to make tea, and pulled off his coat and hung it behind the door.

***

It was late, and the fire had burned low, leaving the flat lit mostly by the fairy lights on the tree and at the windows. John held up his hand to watch the colored lights dance across the smooth surface of the simple gold ring. Sherlock had been glued to him on the couch most of the night but had gotten up to use the loo. Curious, John worked the ring off of his finger and held it up to shine in the firelight. He noticed that there was an inscription on the inside of the band. Squinting and pulling the ring close to his face, he was able to make out the words in the dim light.

_I’ve just got one._


End file.
